


Hidden In the Sand

by 1AbbyNewth5



Series: In Which Crowley Spots Aziraphale Singing, or the Other Way Around [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1960s, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Sings (Good Omens), Aziraphale Talks to Himself (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Aziraphale's POV (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, Holy Water, M/M, Other, Quote: You go too fast for me Crowley (Good Omens), Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Song fic, Song: Hidden In the Sand (Tally Hall)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1AbbyNewth5/pseuds/1AbbyNewth5
Summary: Aziraphale tries to think of what to say before giving Crowley holy water.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: In Which Crowley Spots Aziraphale Singing, or the Other Way Around [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003803
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

“Hello, Crowley,” Aziraphale spoke to himself. “I’m beginning to see that you really want holy water for very vague reasons when you really should just tell me the _real_ reason so I’d understand more clearly, but since you have continued to be so vague, I won’t give you the holy water because I’m in suspicion of you hurting yourself with it, and I don’t want to be responsible…”

No, too much of a mouthful.

“Crowley,” he spoke out loud again, trying to come off as assertive. “You say you want this holy water, I say I don’t want to give it to you, because… of _very_ obvious reasons-! No. No, that doesn’t work, either…”

The angel paced back and forth in the backroom of the bookshop, staging multiple ways he could talk to Crowley about this… issue. He was going to have to think of something, _anything._ He had no idea what else to do.

Aziraphale took a deep breath.

“Crowley,” he started, imagining the demon in black right in front of him. “I have something very important for you-”

He immediately stopped and shook his head. “No, why does that sound like I’m giving him a Christmas present?? This is something that will literally _kill_ him-!”

Aziraphale then gazed at the tartan patterned thermos, which was set on the very edge of the desk. He could feel his face getting uncomfortably hot just by looking at it. Even though the thermos was entirely lifeless, it looked like it was just sitting there ominously, waiting. Saying that it was filled to the brim with holy water would be an overstatement. Aziraphale has checked multiple times to see if it wouldn’t spill whenever he’d inch it around on the desk.

Aziraphale’s hands wrung over and tugged at each other against his stomach, slowly approaching the thermos on the desk. He’d hate to admit it, but he felt scared over this. To a normal human, they wouldn’t get it as to why an old blond man who wears 1830s clothing when it’s the 1960s would be so frightened of a container holding water. Normal humans would never think of the implications over an angel giving a demon holy water after almost six thousand years of knowing each other.

Aziraphale gulped as he reached out for the thermos with unsteady hands. He felt like he was going to cry, or pass out, or both. He withdrew his hand and pursed his lips for a moment. He opened his mouth.

“Crowley… believe me when I say I want to help you. I want to, _very_ much. But… why can’t you just _tell me_ the reasons you want this? Is it so that I won’t think any less of you? No matter what it is, you can always tell me, but… if you don’t, I…” He looked down at his feet. “I can’t give you this… I love you too much.”

Aziraphale felt like a thousand eyes were watching him as he said the last part. Maybe it was his true form shining through for a moment. Or it was just anxiety. Aziraphale likes the first option better.

He suddenly flinched, hearing a familiar sound of a car parking outside. He glanced out the window to see the Bentley parked across the street from the bookshop.

For some reason, maybe it was an instinct, Aziraphale snapped his fingers to draw the windows’ blinds down. He could only hope and assume that Crowley wouldn’t notice, because if he did, he’d have a grand old time with the possible implications.

Aziraphale peeked an eye out from behind the blinds, seeing Crowley get out of his car, and amble along across the street. Aziraphale felt his stomach drop, thinking he was going to come inside. The only thing he could do was shout the usual “We’re closed!” but this is Crowley. Crowley would find _many_ ways to get in.

Scratch that escape plan, then.

Aziraphale could only shut his eyes and tug onto his fingers, waiting for some kind of inevitable moment to happen… but nothing. No knock on the door, no bell jingle, no familiar friendly face. Crowley wasn’t coming to the bookshop. He was only going down the street into a club. Two young men and a young woman were waiting for him at the front, and they all went right inside. With Crowley there, they looked like a small group that would form some sort of heist…

Oh… oh.

Aziraphale stepped back from the window, holding his hands close to his chest. He glanced back down at the thermos on the desk. He gulped, feeling a lump in his throat. He wanted to get this over with, but at the same time, he really did _not_ want to. This is something that can and will kill Crowley in an instant.

Aziraphale sat down in his chair, holding his gaze at the thermos. He took in a deep breath, over and over again. His fingers clenched onto his vest and unclenched multiple times. His grip was extremely tight, but not tight enough to damage anything. He tried to think of some sort of tune to hum and relax to. Something about… “ _We were playing in the sand…_ ”

The angel had no idea how much time had passed, but he knew that Crowley would leave the club some time. He shakily stood up and peeked out from behind the blinds again, seeing him talking to a man that wasn’t in his small group before. In all honesty, Aziraphale would care less about the people Crowley has been hanging around with, because he’s such a social spider like that.

Eventually, Aziraphale saw Crowley and the man in odd-looking army clothes part ways, as Crowley headed to the Bentley. Aziraphale backed away from the window, rapidly breathing in and out until he looked back at the thermos. He reached out his hand, touching the cool metal with this thumb.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, steadily letting in and out a long breath, and snapped his fingers.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Crowley’s tone was practically the definition of confusion.

Aziraphale kept his voice steady. “I needed a word with you.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ll give you a lift, _anywhere_ you wanna go.”

“… You go too fast for me, Crowley…”

Aziraphale shut the door from behind him, pressing his back against it. He felt as though he was staring at nothing. He felt completely stiff.

Really?? Was “You go too fast for me” the only, and possibly, _last_ thing he’d ever say to Crowley before he got out of the car?! What if he didn’t get it?? What if he took it literally because he always drove over the speed limit?! No, Crowley is _far_ too smart to take what Aziraphale just said too literally… Would he have time to get back to the car to clarify what he meant, or should he just let Crowley drive off?

Aziraphale shook his head and peeked from behind the blind on the door window, seeing the Bentley still parked across the street. Aziraphale froze in place, watching Crowley as he was staring and holding onto the thermos. He looked so deep in thought. Somber.

What is he still doing there? Is he waiting for Aziraphale to come back out? Is he savoring the moment? If he is, what is he savoring _for?_ That he just got a gift that will kill him?

Crowley turned his head towards the window of the door, and Aziraphale flinched back from peeking out. He turned his back against the door, expecting to get to his backroom, to move at all, but he was frozen in place.

What if while Crowley drives home, the cap goes loose and the water spills all over the car? What if when Crowley _gets_ home, he spills the thermos by accident and slips? What if Crowley forgets it’s holy water after a while and just chugs it down? What if Crowley splashes it on his face right now across the street just to get it over with?!

Gritting his teeth, Aziraphale dropped to his knees. His eyes felt especially stingy, and he covered his face with his hands. No doubt about it, he _hated_ this night. He _hated_ having to be a part of this. He _hated_ this situation that he and Crowley were in, and he’d surely like to get out of it. But there was nothing to do. Aziraphale couldn’t do anything else but wait for Crowley to be gone.

Shuddering a sigh, the angel’s head met the door as he looked up at the ceiling. He gently opened his mouth.

“ _We were playing in the sand,_ ” he sang. His voice was wavering so much, but he tried to keep it steady… replace ‘tried’ with ‘struggled immensely’. “ _And you found a little band…_ ”

His head rested against the door as he held his knees close to his chest.

“ _You told me you fell in love with it,_

_Hadn’t gone as I planned._

_When you had to bid adieu,_

_Said you’d never love anew._

_I wondered if I could hold it,_

_And fall in love with it, too…_ ”

Aziraphale stopped himself, feeling a lump work up in his throat. He gulped, and he shut his eyes.

“ _You told me to buy a pony,_

 _But all I wanted was you._ ”

He sniffled and wiped his eyes multiple times. Tears would come flooding in over and over, enough to make Aziraphale hide his face in his hands again. With his back against the door, the angel sat there, crying softly.

Crowley leaned on the other side, with his ear pressed on the door. His sunglasses were sliding down the bridge of his nose as he listened to the angel sing and weep in the bookshop. Crowley remained there, silent, with a long frown on his face. As the weeping stopped, he could hear Aziraphale eventually shift and stand up from the floor.

“Shit,” Crowley muttered. He jumped off the steps and pushed past a small number of pedestrians to get back into the Bentley. As soon as he got inside, he miracled the engine to start up, but before he could even put his hand on the gear, he glanced down at the thermos filled with holy water on the passenger seat.

Tartan… Why does it have to be tartan?  
Crowley held his gaze on only the cap of the thermos, like it was waiting to get removed. The demon sneered at it lightly, and his face only softened when he looked back at the bookshop. All of the windows were covered by blinds, but Crowley could see an almost perfect silhouette of Aziraphale anxiously pacing back and forth inside.

Crowley’s frown deepened, which only made him push up his glasses. With his foot, he nudged the thermos at the very edge of the passenger seat away from him. He cleared his throat and hunched his shoulders, revved the car’s engine, and took off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are very rare fics of what Aziraphale did after he gave Crowley the holy water, so I did my own spin with it, along with it being a part of my song-fic series. ☺
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! - Abby ❤


End file.
